


Cookies n' Cream

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Baked Goods, F/M, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Pegging, Shotgunning, Whoo lets see, the word "absatively"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“An Afro-Chinese female of middling height, late twenties,” she said, into her smartphone. “Private investigator; compensation, adequate. Menswear, rocked with aplomb; cigars, imbibed regularly; relationship status, highly eligible. Booty, incapable of prevarication.” She sighed into her car’s side mirrors, fluffed her short curls, and took a sip of her coffee, heavily caffeinated. “Jane Crocker, private eye, currently observing the daily travels of Dave Malcolm Strider at the behest of girlfriend of three months, Jade Victoria Harley.” She hit the STOP button on the voice recorder, and tucked her phone into the pocket of her slacks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookies n' Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to irismon for beta reading!

Another day, another dollar.

“An Afro-Chinese female of middling height, late twenties,” she said, into her smartphone. “Private investigator; compensation, adequate. Menswear, rocked with aplomb; cigars, imbibed regularly; relationship status, highly eligible. Booty, incapable of prevarication.” She sighed into her car’s side mirrors, fluffed her short curls, and took a sip of her coffee, heavily caffeinated. “Jane Crocker, private eye, currently observing the daily travels of Dave Malcolm Strider at the behest of girlfriend of three months, Jade Victoria Harley.” She hit the STOP button on the voice recorder, and tucked her phone into the pocket of her slacks.

Strider walked out of the record store with some CDs in his hand, climbed into a car with the awkwardness of a domesticated predator. Jane’s Jaguar, engine purring softly, roared to life as Strider pulled out in a cherry-red Prius. Jane almost laughed, even though she’d been tailing her mark for most of the day, taking pictures and video. His car had nothing on the sheer power of hers, and she had an uncompromising approach to driving: get out of the way, and she wouldn’t crush your car like an insect.

.She stayed a few cars behind him at all times, hoped he didn’t go into any neighborhoods where it’d be conspicuous, and eventually watched as he pulled into the parking lot of a cheap all-you-can-eat Chinese place. She snorted (her mother’s meals did not typically come drenched in sweet-n-sour sauce, to say the least), but parked and got out, entering shortly after Strider.

She took a seat as the waiter approached, and spoke to him in easy, fluid Chinese. She was pleasantly surprised to find that he spoke it, too, and they shared a laugh at the way Westerners gobbled up what they were sure was traditional cuisine before he ran off to make her Arnold Palmer.

Jane checked her Serious Business app, finding the usual drama:

**tuxedoTrainer: @gutsyGumshoe, please advise. During course of employment, noticed that compatriot had unfortunate stain of approximately circular shape on pantaloon leg. Crust quickly revealed stain to be of a lascivious nature.**

**gutsyGumshoe: @tuxedoTrainer, please do not bring dramatic office brouhaha to this chat, sir! i advise that you merely warn him of the stain and go about your business, while noting to yourself his method of corporate advancement! hoo hoo hoo**

Jane got some food (which was hot and delicious despite its tragically high fakeness attribute) and took a seat, sipping on her Arnold Palmer. She noticed the looks she got (wearing tailored three-piece suits, mostly in charcoal greys and blues, got her a lot of attention), but ignored them as she turned her attention to her mark and, suddenly, her client.

Strider was meeting up with his girlfriend, Harley, who’d been in the passenger’s seat of the car.. Now that Jane could get a look at him, he had odd facial features: wide lips and nose, kinky hair, strong jaw. In short, features typical of the Negroid race which formed half her genes. Yet her mark had skin so pale it seemed the sun had never touched it, and his hair was a brilliant white. He was saying something about the restaurant.

“It’s ironic, obviously. This is a casual lunch date, not some kind of goddamn off-the-wall Fifty Shades of Gray foot-sweeping.” Jade didn’t seem impressed.

“It’s still lame as hell, Dave! God, a girl likes to feel special...” Dave sighed, pressed the palms of his hands into his sunglasses.

“Trouble in paradise,” murmured Jane, stirring her drink and taking a sip. She adjusted her glasses, and pulled a pocketwatch out of the pocket of her vest, checking the time. _Cooking with Crocker_ , her favorite cooking show, started in a few hours, and she’d forgotten to record it.

Eventually the unhappy couple paid and left, standing on the sidewalk outside the building and arguing. Jane took the opportunity to pay and leave herself, leaving a generous tip for the waiter, and lit a Cherry Vanilla Black n’ Mild as she walked over to her car.

She drove away with the windows up, took the interstate into downtown, and parked her car in a multilevel garage, whistling at the absurd rate on her way out. A few blocks later, she was at her client’s favorite shooting range, where she paid for ammunition, mufflers, and glasses before standing in the lane furthest to the left. From the holster beneath her armpit, Jane produced her baby: a Smith & Wesson Model 629 with beautiful engraving and ivory plating, a present from her father when she started work as a PI. She quickly disassembled, cleaned, and put it back together before loading, taking aim, and firing at the lined target several feet away.

She practiced in relative silence for a while, until a tap on her shoulder from the girl she’d stood next to signalled the end of her time. Jane turned to see Jade Harley standing there, in an informal tank top, just as the latter peered over into her lane to see how well she shot. After a glance, Jade looked to her meaningfully and they went back to the front and stepped into the noise of the city.

“You’re a very good shot!” said Jade, impressed, as soon as they were out. Jane smiled at her.

“It’s all practice!” she assured her client. “You didn’t do so bad yourself.” Jade nodded her thanks, and steered them in the direction of the parking garage.

“Were you following us?” she asked, in whispers. Jane smiled: her job wasn’t that glamorous, but most people seemed to insist on thinking it was.

“Yep! From Whole Foods to the record store to China Buffet.” Jade’s emerald green eyes, a sharp contrast from her apparently natural brown skin, opened wide. Jane made a mental note to inquire as to her ancestry sometime, then realized how silly it was of an Afro-Chinese woman with bright blue eyes to do so.

“Did you see how he shut me out? I really think he’s hiding something, Ms. Crocker.” She made a quirky shape with her mouth as they entered the building that housed the garage and punched “down” on the panel beside the elevator.

“Well, if you’re sure, I will give you a quote depending on the types of evidence you want me to gather and a sample...” Jane used her phone to show Jade the sort of pictures she’d taken, the quality of video she could expect. “The directional microphone wasn’t used today, but rest assured I can use that as well! The downside is, the more evidence you want and the longer it takes to collect, the more it will cost you.”

“I really only want pictures and sound. No video is necessary. And I guess we could go for a week?” Jane nodded, typed in some things.

“That’s going to cost you three hundred and fourteen dollars, Ms. Harley. And I don’t do refunds.” Jade heaved a sigh, reached into her purse and wallet, counted out the bills, and stuffed them into Jane’s hand. Jane pretended not to be surprised, pulling a leather one from her back pocket and inserting the money, then printing out Jade’s receipt using a little calculator-like device in her car. “Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Harley.” They shook on it, and Jane got into her Jag, sighing at the folly of relationships without trust.

 

Hours later, Jane waited in another parking garage for Dave Strider to get off of work. Luckily, he drove his girlfriend’s conspicuous car instead of his own to save on gas, and as he pulled out, she trailed him, always making sure to stay a distance away, and only approach him when to do otherwise would be suspiciously unusual and draw attention to herself. She watched him eat an early supper alone at McDonald’s...or, not so alone.

She’d been snapping photos, but when a young woman approached him and he stood to hug her, she set up the directional mic, as well.

“How lovely to see you again, David,” said the lady in the lavender hoodie. Dave snorted, causing a little burst of interference.

“For the last goddamn time, it’s just Dave! Why do you have to be this way?” The woman’s mouth curved into an easy, knowing smile.

“Because you love it.” Jane froze. That was borderline flirtatious! Maybe Harley was onto something.

“You’re right. I do love you, even if you’re an asshole. You’re still my little sister.” Jane let out a sigh of relief.

“By two minutes!” Dave grinned, showing teeth.

“Right. How’s the book going?” Jane saw no need to eavesdrop further, and switched off the mic, though she snapped a few more photos and saved the sound recording. So thus far, all Dave had done was clog his arteries and meet up with his sister. Nothing too suspicious. But as the sun began to set, Jane did start to wonder why he was out so late.

Eventually he came to a rest in another garage, and Jane followed, taking the stairs to avoid sharing an elevator with him and following him to...a nightclub.

Her clothes were completely inappropriate for a place like that. She’d stick out like a sore thumb. Luckily, though, an ace detective never went out unprepared. She returned to her care, thanking the heavens for her spare sets of “casual clothes”: she kept a nice dress in her favorite cyan, a t-shirt and jeans combo, and, perhaps best for clubbing, a tight, vest-like white top and cyan skirt. She put on the last of these, thankful for tinted windows and dark garages, and after a moment of thought put on little monster shaped earrings before applying lipstick on her way out.

When she emerged onto the street, the queue in front of the club’s doors was massive, and she didn’t much like the new kind of looks she was getting. In her suits, she got confusion, admiration, and annoyance in equal measure. Her new duds got lewd glances at any part of her beneath the neck. Restraining the urge to go back and get her gun, which would never be allowed inside a club, she waited to be admitted, and then was blown away.

The club was beautiful, with a thick glass dance floor that doubled as an aquarium, a transparent bar filled with cuttlefish, and a raised DJ booth filled with jellyfish. The LEDs in the tanks provided an unbelievable ambience, reflecting liquid light patterns on every available surface. The floor itself was packed with people, sweating and gyrating, moist with roistering. But above all these things, there was the music. Signs everywhere proclaimed the presence of “DJ White Knight”, and Jane had a pretty good idea of who that was. The sounds coming from the DJ booth were unbelievable—Dave had a feel for the crowd, a touch for remixes that amounted to art style, and a love of old-fashioned record scratching that kept the crowd guessing.

While Jane wanted to go to the booth immediately, she knew how it would look to go for the DJ before the floor, so she walked up to the nearest person she could find, a handsome young Japanese guy with tiny shorts, an emerald jacket, and really nice shoulders, and started dancing with him. After several minutes of silly dancing with him, she determined that he hit for a different team and just cut up, having as good a time as she could before a jacked black dude with pointy glasses and blond cornrows, much older than both of them, swept by and picked him up.

Then, Jane just flitted from partner to partner, proving her earlier statement about her bottom’s nonexistent inclination towards falsehood, and then doing the same for her hips, waist, and general anatomy. By the time she escaped the crush of people, her whole body felt like she’d run a marathon, and it was incredible. She’d forgotten how alive parties could make you feel. But, she reminded herself that she was on business, not pleasure, and made her way up to the DJ  booth with a request she invented on the way. After getting through the line, she found Dave wearing huge headphones, off one ear. He looked up at her, and his shades slipped. Jane caught the slightest hint of bright, burning red.

_He has albinism!_ she realized with a start. _I can’t believe I didn’t figure that out_.

“Yeah. Albino black dude. I’m every joke on every schoolyard in America, I get it. Got a request?” he asked with a sigh, head nodding to his own beats. Jane suddenly flushed to her toes. She couldn’t imagine the bullying it must have attracted, and should’ve known he would be sensitive about it.

“Er...I was just wondering if you had any Midnight Crew?” He turned his head halfway in surprise.

“Midnight Crew? That indie techno jazz band?” Jane nodded, and Dave grinned. “Haven’t gotten a request for them, like, ever. But yeah, I’ve got you covered. Let the White Knight take care of it.” He wrote down her request on a notepad, and she turned to go. “Hey, wait up.” Jane turned around slowly, hoping he wouldn’t have noticed her before.

“Y-yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“Mina Sassacre,” said Jane smoothly. It was the name of her old RP character.

“You look thirsty as fuck, Mina. Like, straight-up virginal white suburban pre-teen in the Sahara thirsty. You see that bartender, light skin, natural hair movement chick? Tell her you need a drink, and Dave sent you.” Jane nodded.

“Thanks.” But he was already looking at the next person in line, so Jane went on her way, only flicking her hand out to place a tiny camera on one of his larger pieces of equipment, hoping that it was angled right and he wouldn’t notice it. It was one of the few models of that size that recorded sound, as well, but the club was loud, and there was no guarantee that his words would be audible.

She made her way to the bar and the poofy-haired bartender.

“Hi! The DJ told me to tell you I was thirsty, and he sent me,” Jane said. The bartender looked unimpressed.

“He also sent the last twenty people. No such thing as a free lunch.” She turned to go.

“Dave! His name is Dave.” The bartender paused.

“Oh! That’s different, then. Well, let’s see. Everyone likes to buy the DJ drinks. What do you fancy?”

“I’ve always been a wine girl,” Jane said, with no little uncertainty. The bartender lit up.

“Well, some rich kid bought a whole damn bottle of Rosé for him. You like Rosé?”

“Everything with a _tongue_ likes Rosé.”

“That’s my girl.” Jane downed a glass, and went back to the dance floor just as Dave’s voice, just a little too fast, came over the speakers.

“This one’s for Mina Sassacre, a never-before-heard White Knight remix...” The crowd got wild, and just as it calmed down, a the first bars came through—a clip from some old song, saying “Make her a member of the Midnight Crew”, before Sylvester Stone’s piano, Damien Drake’s saxophone, and Herbie Barnes’ cello opened up, accompanied by a hard driving beat, wavering rhythm, and beautiful electronica.

“Liquid Negrocity!” breathed Jane, but it wasn’t exactly. It was darker, more sophisticated than the original, and a whole lot more exciting. The crowd whipped itself into a frenzy to keep up with the accelerating drama of the song, interspersed with sound bytes from that old song, until it ended too soon, leaving the crowd full of energy that Dave pulled right into a classic hip-hop anthem, ramping up the excitement of the new with nostalgia for the old. The dance floor turned into a sweaty, partially nude riot, and when Jane once more stumbled off, for another glass of wine and the bathroom, she had to admit, Dave was good.

Hours later, when the bottle of Rosé was gone, and Jane’s stomach sloshed with it and water, she walked up to Dave’s booth while he was closing up and retrieved her camera.

“Hey, Mina!” he called. Jane stopped herself from jumping only through force of will, and turned around. He was wagging a finger at her. “No touching the equipment, yeah?” _Shit, he’s hot_. Jane wishes the alcohol hadn’t brought that thought to mind, but there it was: in a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up over whiter arms, tight with lean muscle, black jeans, bright red basketball shoes, a red knit beanie with what looked like a gear in it, and those shades, which should have been stupid but which were actually pretty cool. Dave Strider was hot to trot, and Jane was _really_ jealous of his girlfriend.

Who was paying her money to be around him. Professionalism reasserted itself, and she apologized and absconded from the club as soon as possible, getting in her car and moving all the stuff she’d gathered onto her computer.

Playing back the feed from the tiny camera, Jane found that a lot of people, of every gender, approached Dave with salacious offers. In every case, he either ignored them or called security if they got handsy. After patching together a compilation of all such incidents on her laptop and cleaning up the sound as best she could, she saved the file. Sometimes clients decided they wanted video after all, which was an extra fifty bucks.

On the whole, though, Dave was a model of behavior. Jade had nothing to fear, and judging by the spring in his step on his way to the car inside the garage with his backpack full of music, he’d been paid good money for the work he did. Jane pulled out as he left, in the stream of departing cars, and watched him until he pulled into the tiny house Jade owned. At that point, she drove past, into a much nicer neighborhood.

Jane’s parents had left her their house when they went to travel the world together, and she’d enjoyed not having to move. As she parked in her garage and unlocked the door, she was greeted by the familiar smells of books and lingering sweet smoke, which prompted the lighting of another Black n’ Mild on the patio out back. After the smoke, Jane showered, got into her PJs, and started re-reading “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” while she made herself “a hard day’s work” snickerdoodles, half of which she ate.

“Gotta stop eating all this unhealthy stuff,” she muttered to herself, looking at her reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator. She’d always been chubbier than others might have liked, no matter how much she exercised. It was the baking, she was sure. But she was equally unwilling to give it up, and she didn’t actually care enough about what people thought to stop making herself happy with hot sweets.

She climbed into bed and read until she fell into blissful sleep.

 

In the morning, after a shower and bagel, Jane logged on to the internet and started researching Dave. As it turned out, he had an entire website for his DJ White Knight persona, and he had a schedule of his appearances. Last night had been at a club called Seadweller, but tonight he’d be putting in an appearance at Derse, a club that required formal wear for entrance and, Jane knew from what she’d heard, had a lot of disreputable activity going on behind the scenes.

Jade had told her Dave’s usual schedule: he drew comics in the morning after breakfast, went to the gym, went to work, had lunch at a favorite sandwich shoppe, finished off his shift, then went god-knew-where. Jane knew, now, that he met up with various people before heading to a club to set up for his performance when night fell. By pure serendipity, the gym Dave went to was the one closest to Jane, and the one she regularly went to to keep in shape for her occasionally physical job.

Jane showed up that morning later than usual to intercept her mark, in a tank top and sweatpants, hoping to stave off the annoying stares of the male lifters by wearing clothing as nondescript as possible. It didn’t work, but she felt better about thinking of them as lechers and creeps while she did her lifting and cable machines. Dave showed up about fifteen minutes into her workout in basketball shorts and a red t-shirt with a scratched record on it. He also wore a gross fluffy headband, but Jane tried not to judge as she watched out of the corner of her eye for his behavior towards other patrons—which was nonexistent.

As time went on, Jane found herself watching Dave more than his sparse interactions. His controlled exhalations as he brought a dumbbell up laterally, and back in as he returned to rest. The cords of muscle standing out in his arms as he pulled down the shoulder bar. His powerful legs, white as snow with fine, pale hair, tightening into a squat. She had to look away after a while, if only to make sure she didn’t compromise her own form to watch his. It was a relief to finish her routine and move up to the cardio room.

Until he came up, too, getting on an elliptical and running faster than anyone she’d ever seen. It was her habit to run at low intensity for an hour, the gym’s limit on how long you could hold a machine, but he seemed intent on going as long as she did, only at speeds so high his feet went to the bottom of their swing three times between her breaths. When she finally got off, pouring sweat, and emerged from a quick shower minutes later, Strider happened to be in the same situation.

“Mina, right?” Jane froze.

“Oh...Dave?” He grinned at her.

“Yeah! The DJ from last night. Was I any good before the alcohol?” They walked through the double doors together as he spoke.

“Oh, absatively! You were phenomenal, Mr. Strider.” His head snapped up.

“Where’d you learn my name?” Jane’s tongue had slipped, but her mind did not.

“It’s on your website. I liked what I heard last night, so I wanted to see where I could catch you next. I’ll definitely be at Derse tonight.” Dave nodded, still a little confused, but satisfied for the moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“I’m glad you liked the sound of that Liquid Negrocity mix—I’m calling it “Black” right now. If you want to hear more of my stuff, I’ll put you on my update feed. I mean, if you don’t mind giving a random DJ your number.” Jane gave it to him, since it’d be silly to refuse after meeting him and enjoying his stuff. “I should have an album of my original music out soon, so watch out for me.” Again with that smile. It was disarming, white teeth on white skin on white hair (on eyes as red as blood), on a face that by all rights should have been Black. But Jane managed to forget to be flustered, and nodded her thanks as she turned to walk for home.

“Yes, will do.” She very conspicuously didn’t hear Dave’s footsteps on the asphalt, and turned back around. He was looking at her. “Is something the matter?”

“Do you need a ride home? I’m not busy or anything.” _Liar_ , thought Jane. _You have to go home and get dressed for work_.

“It would be lovely, yes!” said Jane, stepping on her own mental feet. _Get a hold of yourself! This city is full of attractive males!_ But it was too late, and she was in the passenger’s side of the Prius, chatting amiably with Dave about whatever popped to mind. Before she knew it, she’d offered him the rest of her snickerdoodles, and when they arrived at her house ten minutes later, she popped inside to give him some, lighting a cigar to calm her nerves before she carried the container out to him. He flashed her that charming smile, promised to return the cookies the next day, and watched her smoke very carefully for a moment before pulling out and driving away.

Jane felt faint.

 

When she entered Derse in her favorite short blue dress and white jacket, she was immediately struck by the atmosphere of the place. Where Seadweller had been all watery fluorescence, Derse was made of velvet and shadows. Everything that could conceivably be violet, was, and the ceiling’s clever design made it seem like it opened onto eternity instead of just a roof.

Dave was dressed rather differently today, in a purple dress shirt and black slacks, and the woman next to him (Rose? That’s what he’d called her before) wore a low cut floor-length purple dress. It seemed no requests were being taken today, meaning no excuse to plant a camera, which meant a detailed written report.

The music they played was an ephemeral amalgam of violin and Dave’s electronic music, blended with just the right amount of harmony and dissonance. Most of the dancing on the floor was formal, but even that was limited. Most people just joined any given table and made small talk with the others there, bought light snacks and drinks, and occasionally pulled up a partner. Jane found herself next to the same couple from before, the Japanese guy and his muscular friend with the pointy shades and braids. They were with a girl about her age, maybe Vietnamese, with hair that curled adorably at the end.

They made small talk for a while, mostly about the music, and when Dave went on break (Midnight Crew’s newest album filtered down from the speakers after the announcement), Jane stood to leave, taking all of their chumhandles with her, and made for the hall Dave had gone down. A break from DJing sounded like a perfectly innocent excuse to go do something disreputable, and it wasn’t going to be long enough to get up to anything particularly extreme.

She made it to the hallway before Dave did, and since she didn’t know where he was going, she went to the end of it and opened the door to the cool night air, producing a cigar for a smoke break while she was out. Just before she could light up, though, she heard a scratch behind her, and flinched. There, behind her, was Dave Strider, holding a goddamn matchstick up to the tip of her cigar. Never one to turn down a light, she let him, took a deep drag, held, closed her eyes, and released it. _Bliss._

She could hear Dave breathing in hard through his nose. The brand she preferred had the sweetest smoke imaginable, and she was used to people enjoying the smell of her carcinogens.

“Having a good night, Mina?” he asked her, as if he hadn’t followed her outside to stand in the dark in an alley. Jane was very cognizant of the gun she carried under her jacket, even though she trusted Dave for the most part. Derse, for some reason, didn’t have metal detectors, probably because of the sketchy business that went on inside, so she’d carried in case things got ugly. And, although she doubted it, the voices of her father and some of her friends who’d been attacked warned her against the situation she was currently in.

“Yeah, it’s great. Who’s the violinist?”

“My twin sister, Rose Lalonde. She writes books, but the Complacency of the Learned apparently doesn’t put enough food on the table, so she collabs with me sometimes.” Jane faintly remembered hearing the name of that series before, but rather than reply she took another drag, which made a great substitute for words sometimes. “You got another one of those? It’s been a long time since I smoked, but that probably tastes amazing.” Jane shook her head.

“Left the pack in the car, sorry. Would if I could, friend!” She took one more pull, and this time as she pulled the filter away from her mouth, Dave’s lips crashed into hers, which propped open on instinct, and when he breathed in he pulled the smoke right out of her, then stepped back, exhaled in rapture. The sight of his ghostly skin in the gloom, surrounded by a haze of shifting smoke, went straight to Jane’s core.

“Sorry about that, it was kind of a spur o’ the moment thing, I got a girlfrien—” Jane pressed both her hands into Dave’s shoulders, carefully angling her cigar away from his body, and pushed him firmly into the wall, where he let out his remaining breath in an adorable squeak, and she filled that absence of breath with her own, sweetened with smooth cherry vanilla and smoke, her full lips locked firmly with his larger ones. He shuddered under her hands as she left cyan lipstick marks down his jaw.

“I could just eat you up, Mr. Strider,” murmured Jane, as Dave’s hands, previously limp at his sides,came up to push her away and changed their minds en route, clamping onto her sides and sliding down to her hips and back to her impeccably honest posterior. Jane realized seconds late that she was using considerably more tongue than usual for a first kiss with someone, and then again that she was kissing someone who 1) was in a relationship, and 2) who she was being paid to prevent this exact problem. She pushed again, only with Dave on the wall, it had the effect of separating them.

“Fuck,” said Dave, the model of eloquence. Jane, for her part, had removed a kerchief from her purse and began to wipe away the bright blue evidence along Dave’s jawline.

“Gosh, I am positively mortified!” she exclaimed, freaking out more than she showed. “I must have read too far into your—”

“No. You didn’t.” Dave sighed, head angled down, and Jane followed his gaze down to a very prominent bulge in his dress pants. Fuck. “You didn’t misread me at all. God, how am I going to walk back onto the floor with that?” Jane’s lips quirked.

“Well, if you hypothetically wanted some minor assistance with it, for the good of the performance, I might be able to offer you some degree of succor.” Dave’s eyebrows rose above his shades, not missing the obvious innuendo for a moment.

“I’d be hella grateful,” he said, with an abundance of care. Jane reached out and slid a single finger along the line of the bulge, while Dave let out a hissing breath. Jane set her purse to the side and extinguished the cigar, not even worried for the moment about the stunning waste of it, then slowly sank to her knees, undoing Dave’s belt more by luck than practice, then pulling apart the catch and sliding down the zipper.

He wore pure white boxers like some kind of goddamn Calvin Klein model, and Jane was quick to pull those down far enough that his cock, weighed down slightly by its own length, came free. Jane looked up at him.

“Take off your shades,” she said, cringing at the accidental huskiness of her voice.

“If I take off my shades,” he repied, in dramatic whispers, “I won’t be able to fucking see. They’re prescription.” Jane remembered suddenly that a couple of vision defects, among them astigmatism and photophobia, were common among albinism patients, and shut her mouth before she ruined the mood any more. She reached out with one hand and grasped his cock (Jane found herself thinking of it as a _member_ and mentally slapped herself) then kissed along the side until her nose was damn near buried in his pubic hair, keeping eye contact the entire time.

“Fuck,” said Dave again, as she licked her way back up, then took the head gingerly in her mouth, avoiding her buck teeth only through the little bit of practice she’d had at this over her years. Swiping at the tip with her tongue, she hollowed her cheeks and went down a few inches and back again, allowing saliva to pool in her mouth so she could spread it over him.

Jane couldn’t give him an eye measurement, but he was at least substantial enough that she didn’t even entertain the idea of taking all of him, and when he placed a single hand on her head, she made sure he was looking at her and rolled her eyes. Every one of her partners who had penises had tried to do this when she sucked them off, and not a one of them had been able to budge her head an inch. No one expected the fat girl to be powerful, but she could lift a fridge at sixteen, so even if Dave had used both hands he’d have stood no chance.

Instead, she pulled her head back, eyes locked on his as her lips slid over the ridge of his glans and closed as it tapered off, then kissed the tip. Her jaw was already feeling the slight beginnings of an ache, so she stroked him for a bit, gently squeezing his heavy balls, before taking him back into her. This time she was much more aggressive, sucking loudly, bobbings her head at speed, and all the while keeping her eyes locked with his and coordinating squeezes to his sac with bobs of her head.

“I’m ‘bout done, darlin’,” he said, in an adorable Southern accent. Jane took this to mean “go all out”, took as much of him in her mouth as she could, and ran her tongue around it while she sucked and squeezed. His cock pulsed once, twice, thrice, four times, seemingly filling her mouth with come, and she gave it a few good tugs to make sure none would string and get on her clothing as she pulled her head back. Finally, making a face, she swallowed it all. Not a pleasant flavor by any means, but, due to her father’s insistence on lack of waste, she had eaten cupcakes with salt instead of sugar and cookies burned beyond recognition before. Semen’s strange, oily saltiness wasn’t the most unpleasant thing she’d ever tasted by a long shot.

“That was pretty hot,” said Dave, tucking his softening cock back into his underwear.

“Pretty disgusting,” said Jane, rising to her feet and adjusting Dave’s collar. “Taken care of, Mr. Strider?” Dave nodded.

“Thanks. See you ‘round, Mina.” This last bit was at Jane’s back—she couldn’t imagine walking back into the club and meeting Dave’s sister’s eyes with the taste of her brother’s come in her mouth, so she was walking out of the alley and to the nearby parking garage, planning to go home, eat some Rocky Road to get the taste out, and write up her report to Jade.

 

Jane had no intention of investigating Dave again the next day. This third day of investigation, Wednesday, would be too many in a row to interact with him without arousing suspicion. While she did go to the gym, she did so at her regular, early hour,  and then immediately went to the shooting range and then back home. Foregoing clothing in favor of an oversized shirt with a monster on it and underwear, she sat around working while watching recorded episodes of _Cooking with Crocker_. The professional chef playing Betty in the cooking show was Jane’s mother; she thought it her duty to help keep ratings high.

This kept her occupied, but eventually she itched, and ran into the kitchen to make some gingerbread and tea. She had just poured herself a cup and brought a plate of warm gingerbread to the coffee table in the living room when the doorbell rang startling her from her work reverie. She sidled over to the door, looked into the peephole, and then ran back to the living room and slammed her laptop shut before unlocking and opening to door.

Dave Strider stood there, awkward in jeans and a plain red hoodie, as well as the same red beanie from before. There was a half-second pause, which Jane was sure he checked her out in, before he handed over an empty plastic container. Jane was suddenly very conscious of her bare legs, and then annoyed that she cared.

“Those snickerdoodles were _mad_ delicious, yo,” he said, easily. “Me ‘n Jade loved ‘em.” He looked suddenly guilty at the last part, and Jane felt like she was going to be sick.

“Thank you, Mr. Strider. If you’ll excuse—”

“Mina.” Dave sounded deadly serious, and she decided to give him a moment. “You weren’t at the gym. I know you’re probably avoiding me.” _Other way round, DJ White Knight_ , Jane thought. “But what happened yesterday isn’t something we can repeat, no matter how nice it was. I wanted to tell you that.” Jane nodded.

“I understand. Completely.” Dave sniffed the air, probably hoping to be discreet, and Jane’s mind flickered back to the more than three-quarters of a dish of gingerbread she had left. “Come inside if you want, I’ve got more gingerbread than I know what to do with.” Dave followed and closed the door behind him, locking it after a moment’s hesitation. Jane lead him quickly to the fully equipped kitchen and cut a liberal number of squares for him to take, placing most of them in the newly washed container the snickerdoodles had come back in. The rest, she heaped onto a plate, which she brought into the living room and quickly paired with a fresh cup of tea.

Dave ate in relative silence, interspersed with slurps of tea that kept Jane giggling into hers and endless praise for the quality of her cooking. He inclined his head to _Cooking with Crocker_ like it was an old friend.

“My bro used to watch that show all the time. Huge ass grown man, in a polo with a popped collar, wearing an apron that said “Ass: It’s What’s For Dinner” and cooking along with Betty Crocker. Hey, she looks kind of like you.” Jane nodded, taking a swallow of tea.

“Distant relative,” she explained, short. “What do you mean your brother used to watch the show?” Dave shrugged.

“He moved out. Left me his apartment to rent out, though. He was a cool guy. Haven’t seen or heard him in ten years.” Jane nodded.

“That’s rather unusual, yes. But you’re sure he’s okay?” Dave grinned.

“Yep. His websites are all still running, new content all the time, so I know he’s still around. Here, I’ll show—” His hands reached for her laptop, and Jane nearly lunged at him to snatch it away, tripping over herself and smacking her head on the coffee table on the way. Flushing, she stood up, breathing hard, and threw her computer onto the armchair on the other side of the room.

“Don’t...don’t touch my computer, ‘kay?” If Dave had opened it up, he’d have seen her report on his movements, and everything would have been ruined. He didn’t seem to notice, though, staring instead at the crack in the coffee table. He stood in one swift motion and raised his fingers to her forehead, feeling around it for a lump and finding none.

“Christ, are you made of fucking indestructium? Like, straight up Clark Kent in an oversized tee?”His fingers, a little roughened from spinning discs, moved from her forehead to her temples in careful circles, and he apparently didn’t notice the heat of her face. “Yeah, I won’t look at your weird porn or whatever the fuck.” He completed his inspection and slowly removed his hands from her face, blushing.

“I didn’t mind, you know,” said Jane.

“I’m sorry?”

“You touching me. I didn’t mind.” They stood staring at each other, increasingly flustered, the room silent but for Betty Crocker’s instructions regarding the proper way to whip up a good meringue. Then Jane said, “Sorry, I know you said we shouldn’t, and I respect that, I’m not sure what came over me.” Dave regarded her silently for a moment then stepped closer to Jane, so close she could smell sandalwood from his cologne, and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her tightly to him.

His lips were on her before she had time to gasp, and they fell together onto the couch with Jane beneath Dave and both squirming and kissing feverishly. Dave’s hands slid under Jane’s t-shirt onto her bare thighs while he kissed her neck and left marks down to her collarbones, drawing sighs of contentment and little groans of need in equal number. Jane raised her arms so Dave could pull her shirt off, leaving her in a plain beige bra and cotton panties, because seriously, who the hell was she trying to impress while she ate gingerbread at home?

In any case, Dave didn’t seem to be interesting in undressing, reaching behind Jane and unclasping her bra while she slid the straps off of her shoulders, releasing her breasts to droop in accordance with their size. He grasped one firmly as he leaned up to kiss her again, running a roughened thumb over a nipple already swollen and hard and pressing a leg between her thick thighs. Jane moved her hips in vertical circles, grinding her crotch into Dave’s leg while he kissed and caressed her.

The hand on Jane’s nipple moved down between her legs, underneath her panties and through pubic hair to rub at her vulva, already slick with quim. Despite that, Dave continued to kiss and rub at her for several minutes, until she was squeezing and rubbing her thighs together and letting out sighing moans into his lips. Then she slid down her body, trailing kisses down her breastbone and over the swell of her belly, down until he reached the source of her arousal. He lay a quick kiss on the hood of her clitoris, causing her to jump and shudder, before pressing a finger into her wetness. Finding this insufficient, he added another, then another, finding the perfect balance of pressure and comfort.

With his fingers pumping in and out of Jane’s entrance, he licked her labia, which were a darker brown than most of her, and occasionally swiped her clit with his tongue gently, enough to make her clap her hands over her mouth to hold in squeals. A few times, he licked too hard and persistently for her, and had to be steered away by force, but he learned to quickly to play nice, and when her back arched like a bow and quim poured from her, Dave lapped up the flow and stood with a smile.

“Bathroom’s second door on the right,” muttered Jane, and shortly heard the sound of Dave washing off his face. She lay there for a moment, looked down at the wet patch on the couch, and swore, popping a gingerbread square into her mouth, and looking down at her warm, moist vulva. An idea occurred to her.

“Hey, Strider. You mind a round two?” she called out.

“Mina, I will do _anything_ ,” he replied. Jane grinned wickedly, and ran into her room to grab supplies. When Dave emerged from the bathroom, wearing a cocky smile and still with a large bulge in his jeans, Jane was leaning against the wall, still naked, with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, an equally cocky smile, and a large strap-on dildo protruding from a harness around her waist. “Anything,” he repeated, locking eyes with her. Her smile widened, and she grabbed him by the front of his hoodie, and pulled him into her room, closing the door behind them.

Jane rolled on a condom over her strap-on, just to be safe, and lubed it up, and then warmed up some in her hand while Dave undressed, peeling off his hoodie and the plain tee beneath it, then stepping out of his jeans and boxers. She instructed him to put a pillow under his head and lay on his back, and he obeyed, mostly because of the commanding tone of voice she was employing. As soon as he did so, she approached and slipped a finger in his butt, so easily she yelped.

“Shucks _buster!_ ” she exclaimed. Dave snorted, then giggled, then howled with laughter for easily five minutes while Jane stood by, working two, three, then managing to stretch four fingers into his butt. Dave hardly seemed to notice, but by the time he’d died down, she’d gotten him nice and slick and wiped one of her hands off on some tissues nearby so she could get a grasp on him with it. “Hey, spread your legs, goofball.” Dave obeyed, and Jane positioned herself between them, lined up, and pressed the head of the strap on into his opening.

Jane’s lubed up hand wrapped around Dave’s cock, stroking slowly to make up for the frictionless grip she had, while she worked more of the toy into Dave’s anus. Soon, she was in far enough that Dave gave her the okay to start thrusting, and she did, pounding into him with hip motions that, while awkward at first, were easily acclimated to. Dave wrapped his legs around Jane and locked his ankles, so she bent over the front of him, stroking his cock all the while, and thrust deeper, enjoying the wet sounds of the lube, Dave’s gasps, the red flush over his body, and the pressure of the harness front against her.

After a few minutes, Jane got bored with it, picking Dave up with him still impaled on the false phallus, turning them around, and laying back on the bed with her head propped up by pillow and Dave in her lap. He began bouncing enthusiastically there, using the lube remaining on his cock to stroke it himself, while Jane snuck a hand between her legs and stroked the exposed parts of her vulva, not least of which was her clitoral hood, far too sensitive to be trapped and hit under a harness.

Dave dropped down for the last time, taking the full length of the strap-on into him and shaking apart atop Jane, come spurting from his tip into his cupped hand, so placed to prevent it getting all over his partner. Jane came down from an orgasm of her own shortly thereafter, perspiring and shaking, and locked eyes with Dave, who was sliding off the dildo and going back to the bathroom. While he was gone, Jane removed the condom, threw it in the trash, removed the strap-on from the harness  to be boiled, put everything clean away, and got dressed again.

When Dave emerged from the bathroom, he swung by Jane’s room to collect his clothes, muted.

“So, uh,” he said. “We shouldn’t have, but we did.” Jane was thinking about the hundreds of dollars Jade had paid her to ensure this wasn’t occurring.

“Yes. And the more we talk, the more likely it is that we’ll do it again, so you need to get your gingerbread and leave.” Dave looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he tugged his beanie back on, adjusted his shades, and did as she said.

 

On Thursday, Jane went to the gym early. She’d finished her report, and the next day would be meeting Jade to discuss it. While the idea turned her stomach (it would almost certainly involve a lawsuit), she was going to tell her client everything, and then hope she and Dave would be forgiven. A slim hope, but the only one that prevented the sick feeling in her stomach from boiling over.

Come Friday morning, she dressed in her favorite suit: a white shirt, a charcoal grey vest/pant/jacket combo, and a solid cyan tie. Glasses perched on her nose, pistol loaded and ready, with a file folder full of gathered evidence inside a leather portfolio. Jane got into her Jaguar, lighting a cigar on the way to ease her nerves. Jade had asked to meet her in her house, and then given Jane the address before the latter could tell her she’d followed Dave home before.

The visit had been timed to prevent Dave and Jane from seeing each other. At this time of day, Dave had already gone off to work, and so would not be around to ask uncomfortable questions about Jane’s presence. When Jane pulled into the driveway of the tiny house and greeted the cheerful Jade by the door with a somber expression, her client’s face fell perceptibly.

“Oh no! Is something wrong?” Jane shook her head and managed a small, forced smile.

“Personal issues, Ms. Harley, I assure you. Your case is not weighing on my mind in the slightest.” Jane stepped over the threshold with a feeling akin to approaching the guillotine.

“So whatcha got for me, then?” asked Jade, leading Jane to a small table in the kitchen area. Jane tried very hard not to notice the clearly functional elephant gun on a stand in the wall, and instead began removing written reports and pictures from her portfolio.

“You can clearly see and read here that your boyfriend is a model of fidelity, Ms. Harley. I attended his club performances as well as following his movements across the city. He has even been approached with solicitations of an inappropriate nature, and turned them down repeatedly, as you can see on the third page.” Jade flipped to a slightly grainy picture of Dave calling security to get rid of an unruly clubgoer. “Further, his activities late at night are his work as “DJ White Knight”, spinning at clubs on a commission basis. You have nothing to worry about. However—” A sound from behind them made Jane and Jade sit straight upright. A key in the door, unlocking it. Seconds later, it opened, and a voice drifted in.

“Jade? I left my phone in the bathroom, gonna be late as hell to...” He trailed off as he walked past the living room and saw “Mina Sassacre” sitting with his girlfriend. “What is going on here? Mina?” Jade looked at Jane in confusion.

“I approached him occasionally in contexts relating to the gathering of information, introducing myself as Mina Sassacre to prevent his searching for my name and discovering my vocation,” explained Jane. Dave looked even more confused.

“Your vocation? What’s that?” Dave’s voice was growing more offensive by the moment.

“I am a private investigator, Mr. Strider. A detective.” Even with his eyes hidden, Dave’s face was clearly stricken.

“I hired her to make sure you weren’t up to no good out all night!” said Jade. “A girl worries, you k

now.” Dave nodded slowly, the situation coming together in his mind, then looked long and hard at Jane.

“What’s your real name?” Dave shot at Jane.

“Jane Crocker.” He nodded to himself.

“So that’s why Betty looked like you.” He walked past collecting his phone from his bathroom, and quickly dialed a call. “Hey, Manuel, can you do me a favor? All those sick days I haven’t been using? Give me a few weeks off, dude, I’ve gotta get some stuff together. Yeah, tell the bossman I’ve got strep or something, I don’t give a fuck.” He hung up shortly. Jade’s eyebrows rose.

“Why are you taking time off from work?” Dave shook his head, and his voice sounded disbelieving.

“I gotta kick the tenants out of my old apartment, get me and my Bro’s shit out of storage, and pack up my clothes. I think we’re about finished, Harley.” Jade crossed her arms.

“Why? Because you’re angry that I hired Jane when you weren’t talking to me?”

“Because you didn’t trust me.” Every word seemed to take something out of Dave. “And because I didn’t deserve to be trusted. I’ll be packing if you need me.” He moved out of sight and to the rooms out back. Jade looked at Jane in surprise as the detective took out her checkbook and wrote a check for three hundred and sixty four dollars: the cost Jade had paid, plus an extra fifty for her trouble, and made it out to Jade Harley for business purposes.

“I’m going to break the only ironclad rule of my business, Ms. Harley, and give you a partial refund for your losses,” she said, rubbing tired eyes. “I hope you will forgive me.” She stood, leaving Jane with the papers, and took her portfolio on her way to the door. Jade’s frustrated groan, tinged slightly with tears, was the last sound she heard before she closed the door behind herself and got in her car to leave. Not a desirable ending by any means..but perhaps the only safe one. And she noticed Dave’s car, solving the mystery of why he never drove it anywhere: it was jet black, with the logo of the manufacturer replaced by bright orange sunglasses and flame decals. If she’d owned that, she wouldn’t have driven it, either.

Jane drove home, and managed not to cry.

 

The next day, Jane had no phone calls or emails, so she decided to cheer herself up with a marzipan cake and went to the grocery store to get the ingredients. When she got back home, two shopping bags on each hand, Dave Strider was sitting on her doorstep, holding an empty plastic container.

“Well, if you’re there, you may as well make yourself useful and unlock the door. I keep the spare key in that potted hibiscus.” Dave retrieved the key and opened the door, following her inside.

“So. Jane. You lied about your name, about your interest in my music, and then had sex with me knowing I had a girlfriend and you were being way unethical doing so. What do you have to say?” Jane put on a “Kiss the Cook” apron and began mixing ingredients.

“I wasn’t lying about liking your music. As for the rest, I made a mistake, and if that’s all you have to say, you can leave the container on the counter and be on your merry way, Mr. Strider.” Jane whisked with rather more force than was necessary.

“I was just gonna say, if you ever wanna—”

“Absolutely not. You let me put a fake...member in your back door after knowing me for a few days, in spite of your girlfriend of three months. Quite simply, I wouldn’t trust you in a relationship.” Jane paused, thinking about it. “I’ll still romp with you, though, if you like. Not because I want a romantic entanglement with you. Mostly because you’re so hot.” And, as Dave came up behind her with a smile and moved his hands beneath her apron, Jane knew she’d be happy with her choice.


End file.
